


Thanks, Professor

by PikaPikaPikaPikachu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Affection, Beta Read, Comfort, F/M, Mild Angst, Mild Fluff, platonic (maybe) love, please help him, romantic undertones at one point, sad boy, sylvain needs more love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 06:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaPikaPikaPikachu/pseuds/PikaPikaPikaPikachu
Summary: Sylvain confronts Byleth about Miklan.





	Thanks, Professor

**Author's Note:**

> Written by me, but edits were done to make the story legible by my friend Crim. Never forget how important editing can be, folks!

The monastery was breathlessly silent, aside from Byleth’s heels, admittedly ill-chosen, crunching softly against the pebble walkways. The only other sound to fill the silence was the soft tinkling her cloak’s adornments made, the accompanying fabric brushing against her skin seemingly deafening in the quiet. 

She tilted her chin, glaring at the gargantuan sea of cobalt and burgundy, which mingled together as if the goddess herself were brewing a potion of beauty for all the lands to see, dotted with wyverns’ glowing eyes and sparkling scales. A draft brushed up her cloak, up her legs and shirt, causing a deep shiver to wrack her body. 

It would have been so lovely were it not for the apodictic air of dread and anguish that befell Garreg Mach the day Flayn went missing.

Her absence had carved a deep gash into the monastery’s normally cheery atmosphere, slitting its throat and letting it bleed out in small, burbling puddles. Some had already begun mourning, the nuns wearing veils and the monks simply hanging their heads, frowns deeply etched into either’s faces. 

Seteth, meanwhile, had not so easily given up, spending both day and night searching tirelessly for his most precious treasure, drawing up hundreds, if not thousands, of drawings of her, all with increasingly desperate pleas underneath for her safe return. He was a man undone.

Byleth, similarly, had refused to give up, her steely resolve and concentrated will forcing her to take up night watches when she could afford it. It was exhausting, but oh so important, especially to Seteth and Archbishop Rhea. Alas, the search had not yet turned up any results, and worse yet, it seemed Manuela had also disappeared that day. Byleth was not one to pray, despite the goddess living inside of her, but she hoped dearly that both women were safe and sound.

A bolt of fiery carmine caught her eyes, causing them to widen slightly. She stared, brows furrowed, as Sylvain stood before her room, shifting on his feet unevenly, whispering to himself in a hushed and aggressive tone. His hand raised, then lowered, then raised once more, preparing to knock on her door. A small cloud of dust from the door flew up as Sylvain sighed, leaning his forehead against the cool surface, his arm falling to his side.

Pearls. That was what Byleth thought of first when she witnessed wet beads falling down her student’s cheek. Tiny, beautiful beads, shinier than any sweat or blood, and tragic all the same.

Sylvain shook his head and stepped away from the door, shoulders slumped and legs looking as though they were about to give out. His posture stiffened, and the male straightened up fully, as if a soldier being called upon by his general, before turning on his heel. When he spotted Byleth, staring and concerned, the air left him all at once.

“Sylvain,” she said flatly.

“Professor!” he shot back quickly, his form stiffening more than she thought possible. His voice trembled lightly, and he quickly wiped his eyes.

She stepped forward a few paces, closing the distance between them until she was close enough to touch him if she just reached her arm far enough. Her face was still devoid of emotion, of anything, really. Byleth recalled how Sylvain had once claimed it to be horrifying, enough to scare off several soldiers. Ingrid had promptly smacked him as soon as the words left his mouth, the loud  _ thwack! _ echoing in the dining hall. A faint smile tugged at her lips, and she stared up at the Sylvain before her. Such an entertaining fellow.

Neither party said a word, the distant burbling of water and swaying of luscious foliage filling the silence. Byleth held up a hand inquisitively, waiting for him to explain himself.

“It’s… nice out,” he commented, kicking at the crunchy gravel beneath his feet, causing dust to embed itself in his white boots. He quietly cursed himself, causing Byleth’s smile to widen ever-so-slightly.

Byleth nodded, eyes half-lidded in boredom and disbelief. Sylvain gulped dryly, intimidated by the silent, knowing glare of his professor. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he stared up at the sky, not daring to meet her gaze.

“It’s about Miklan,” he spoke softly, voice empty of any joy or anxiety, the apparent mental wall holding him back crumbling under the weight of his conscience.

She frowned, remembering the encounter. An uncomfortable bubble of bile trailed up her throat, tickling at the back of her dry, swollen tongue. The silver-tongued maiden stared into his amber eyes, twinkling, though not of their own accord. Sylvain’s eyes had lost their twinkle long ago, and what Byleth saw was simply a reflection of the sky.

Her hands fell to her sides like lead weights, pulling her down. Oh how she wished they’d pull her harder, away from the situation, but she remained steadfast.

Sylvain paused for a few more moments, before growling softly, looking down at Byleth, his amber eyes hardening to stones more befitting of the description, “Or do you have nothing to say?”

Easily meeting his gaze with an indifferent one, she spoke in a gray, bland monotone, “What do you wish for me to say?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth, closing his eyes tightly, “I  _ wish _ you’d understand. But you can’t.”

She nodded, apathetically commenting, “I don’t understand many things.”

“You and me both…” he sighed softly, letting go of his face, trying to calm down, “You know, Miklan never liked me. Our parents didn’t like him either. All because of this stupid crest business. And now Flayn’s gone,  _ probably _ because of her crest. Don’t you just wish sometimes that… no one had crests?”

Byleth tilted her head back, contemplating the thought. A world without crests. It did seem more fair, at least to her, but on the other hand, it was simply something they all had to live with. There was no point in thinking of what-ifs.

“We would find other ways to divide ourselves,” she mused phlegmatically.

He chuckled deeply, the sound rumbling through his chest and through Byleth’s ears, soothing her shoulders into relaxing and losing all the screwed up tension she held, a tight coil unfurled.

The tension returned in an instant as Sylvain gripped her wrists, roughly pushing her into the wall, causing her to yelp in pain as her head slammed against the masonry. Her mind spun, and she could hardly process it when she felt her arms lifting over her head, being pinned to the wall. She looked up, witnessing his fingers turning bone white as he squeezed, making her cringe in pain.

“Like the strong against the weak,” he breathed onto her neck, causing another shiver to slither through her, “I’m surprised a spoiled brat like you knows anything about that.”

An uncomfortable feeling of cool swept her body as she remembered their prior discussions about crests and privilege, ending with Sylvain calling her a brat. Though he claimed it was a joke, she knew there was some authentic emotion behind it, only proven further by his abrupt outburst.

Sylvain’s grip loosened slightly, and he sighed, resting his face in Byleth’s hair, deeply inhaling the pine and soapy scents that danced around her, “In a world without crests, Miklan would still be here. But instead… he’s dead. And  _ you _ made me kill him.”

A static charge swept through her body as he gripped her tightly once more, growling into her ear, causing a cool sweat to break out. Never before had one of Byleth’s students frightened her. Never again would she let it happen. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she had the chance, Sylvain pulled back, covering her mouth with one calloused hand. His eyes remained firm and accusing, small pearls at the corners of his eyes.

“Why was it me? Why did it have to be me?” his voice trembled, and he shuddered at the memory of landing the final strikes on his brother, both when he was human and when he was a demonic beast, the bone-chilling death cries echoing in his mind.

Byleth squirmed, trying to pull her hands free from his one-handed grasp. Sylvain noticed, chuckling darkly, pressing his hand harder into her wrists, squeezing tight.

“Have you ever had to kill family, professor? Anyone close to you? Have you ever even  _ had _ anyone close to you, besides Jeralt?” his tone drooped, melancholic and bitter, “Do you understand what it’s like?”

Byleth shook her head honestly, still trying to free herself as she responded, which only made him squeeze tighter, growling softly.

“Would you do it? Would you kill Jeralt if the need arose?” he finally asked, causing Byleth’s eyes to fly wide open in shock. Sylvain’s eyes canvassed her face, searching for a hint of excitement or eagerness, or anything he could use to justify his whirlwind of upset. Thoughts and accusations danced around his mind, and they made him queasy, causing bile to splash against his tongue. He cringed, shutting his eyes briefly, before looking at her again.

She shook her head, slowly and defiantly, eyes narrowing in apparent insult.

“Would you kill me?” Sylvain smiled crookedly, eyes crinkling in amusement, “If you found out just how useless and weak I am, would you kill me? If I didn’t have a crest, would you get rid of me? If you had the chance, would Miklan be here instead?”

His flurry of questions sent Byleth’s head spinning and scrambling for answers, and she grew slightly dizzy from the overstimulation of her panicked mind. Sylvain smirked, chuckling, letting go.

“The answer is yes, isn’t it? To all of them?” he cracked a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, which once again began to fill with tears, “Why’d it have to be me… you can’t possibly know, and here I am, asking. None of this had to be me.”

Byleth grabbed his hands, frowning deeply, hurt settling in her eyes, though not directed at him, “I’m glad you have a crest.”

He raised a brow, chuckling, clearly surprised, though not in a pleasant way, a tear sliding down his cheek, “What? So you can try to seduce me and have crest-bearing babies?”

Her expression remained stoic, and she shook her head, “No.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Sylvain hummed, smiling unhappily, “What is it, professor? What’re you after?”

“I’m after your happiness,” she confessed, causing Sylvain to pause, brows knitted together.

He then smirked and barked out a laugh, yanking his hands away from Byleth, “You’re after  _ my _ happiness? Really? Is that why you made me kill my brother, not once, but  _ twice _ ? Where do you get off!” he shouted, pent-up rage boiling over and filling his core, every word tinged with acid points, “It didn’t have to be me!”

Byleth nodded, “It did. It had to be you, Sylvain.”

“No it didn’t!” he snapped, snarling, spit flying from his nearly-frothing mouth, hitting her in the cheek, “ _ You _ forced me. None of this  _ ever _ had to happen! Being in your class, this damned crest…! Miklan… none of this  _ had _ to be me. And none of it  _ had _ to happen.”

Sylvain’s shoulders slumped, and he began to tremble, laughing shakily as tears fell faster and faster down his pale, dusty cheeks. Byleth reached out a hand, and Sylvain stared at it as if she had just grown a sixth digit. His cool hand feebly reached for hers, slender fingers wrapping around hers, running his thumb over her knuckles. A hitch and sob followed as he stared down, his free hand frantically wiping away a growing number of tears.

“It had to be you, Sylvain,” Byleth murmured, hugging him gently, a frown etched deeply into her features, “You were the one most sure to make it quick and painless…”

He swallowed thickly, wrapping his free arm around his professor, pulling her close and yet again burying his face in her hair, sniffling softly. A laugh passed over his lips, which were torn and cut from biting on them and scraping them with his teeth as he melted down before her. Gently, she unclasped their hands and wrapped her arms around him, a gesture which he quickly reciprocated.

Weakly, his legs trembled beneath him, threatening to give out at any moment as his throat hitched and tore with each sob that wracked his body. Byleth ran her fingers through his silky locks, allowing him to cry to his heart’s content. Sylvain’s head nuzzled into her hand, comfy, and she chuckled softly, causing Sylvain to fall silent.

“Are you… y-you’re laughing at me…” Sylvain murmured, his voice heavy with despair as he rasped, “Flayn’s missing and I’m just… here… being useless and crying. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

“It’s not pathetic, Sylvain,” Byleth spoke gently, as if trying to coddle a terrified baby animal, “You’re allowed to feel. It doesn’t matter if you’re a crest-bearing noble or a lowly peasant. We’re all human. At least… you are.”

Sylvain chuckled airily, hugging her firmly, shutting his eyes tight and struggling to take another gasping breath, “I don’t even know why I’m upset, professor. Miklan and I… weren’t close. He’s always hated my guts. Why do I care…”

“Because you’re a good person,” she cooed easily.

He bit his lip, stifling another laugh, standing back up and letting go, smiling a small, genuine smile, “I’m not so sure about that… but I can try to be. How about some tea…?”

She nodded, beginning to leave to retrieve the pot when Sylvain caught her wrist. Looking up at him, she expected him to say some flirty remark or upset reminder, but instead, he leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. Byleth’s cheeks grew warm, the warmth spreading down to her clavicle and up her ears.

A warm, loving grin filled his features, crinkling his eyes with adoration and forgiveness, “Thanks, professor. For everything.”

Byleth smiled faintly, nodding, before walking away, the clicking of her boots doing little to stifle the woozy, gleeful humming in her mind. Perhaps, for that night, she could let someone else finish doing the rounds for her.


End file.
